


Hunting: Results, Summary, and Conclusion

by Dach



Series: Fëanorian Week 2k17 [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, First Meetings, Gen, Hunting, Smol Oromë, This fandom needs more humor okay!?, a little crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dach/pseuds/Dach
Summary: Oromë’s introduction to Celegorm is… not exactly straightforward.





	

The woods were silent. Not a silent of calm, but a silence of anticipation, green leaves seeming to quiver in excitement upon their branches. The elf moved forwards cautiously, an arrow knocked in his bow and directed towards the ground. Each step that he took was careful, measured, and absolutely soundless. A creature hopped out from underneath the undergrowth, rustling the leaves of the bush it had previously resided in the shelter of, and Celegorm took an enormous stride forwards as the noise masked his advance. His blond hair fluttered slightly from the sudden movement, then settled softly on his pale green tunic. A quiet breath huffed onto the part of his ankle exposed by his sandals, and the Fëanorian very nearly swore out loud. He turned his head to shoot a glare at the creature- a rabbit, as it turned out- and it hopped away with a sniff.

The quiet muttering that Celegorm had been seeking the source of stopped, cut off by a sharp, “OH, ERU!” that filled the clearing. Celegorm heard the thud of a body hitting the ground not seconds after. The Fëanorian rushed forwards, leaping onto a rock behind a heavy oak and leaning against it, gripping the wood tightly with his fingers. After several moments, Celegorm peeked cautiously out from behind the oak.

Sprawled on the ground, a creature lay. Short brown hair clouded around his head, revealing a sharp jawline and pout. The creature shifted a little bit, pushing himself into an upright sitting position and brushing away the debris that littered his brown tunic. His skin was olive-colored, and his ears were hidden in his mess off brown curls. From the angle that Celegorm viewed him, it was impossible to tell his race. After clearing his throat once, the creature turned to yell at two rustling bushes.

“COME BACK HERE, YOU DAMN HORSE!”

A (playful?) whinny was his response, and the creature groaned theatrically, getting to his feet and stretching. He was all of five feet tall. When he carded his fingers through his hair in attempt to dislodge the any remaining pine-needles or dirt, elven ears were revealed. _‘Short elf,’_ remarked Celegorm internally.

“HORSE!?” the… elf yelled again.

From the bushes came another whinny, this one sounding remarkably like a chuckle.

The mystery elf stamped his foot childishly and groaned. Celegorm, deciding that he had seen enough, came out from behind the tree. The instant that his feet made contact with the pine-needle littered ground, the other elf spun around and nearly fell over. When his eyes landed on the Fëanorian, he seemed to puff himself up in indignantly.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he asked. Celegorm was taken aback.

“You imply that you know me. Do you?” The mystery elf didn’t deign to reply, so Celegorm continued. “I only meant to aid you in the subduing of your stray horse.”

After a few more moments of posturing, the mystery elf grumbled, “I don’t need your help.” Celegorm held up his hands, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

“I just- I heard you yell-”

“Have you never played ‘tag’ with a horse?!” the brown-haired elf said, asking it as if it was rhetorical and as if it was a given that Celegorm had.

Celegorm stared at him. _'Did he hit his head too hard?'_   he couldn't help but to wonder. “No, actua-”

“You’re kidding!”

“No,” maintained Celegorm. He was beginning to wonder if it was possible to just leave the clearing, at this point. “I really have not.”

“That is an _outrage_ ,” said the mystery elf, his expression utterly serious. He brought his fingers to his lips and emitted a piercing whistle. A moment later, a chestnut brown horse pranced into the clearing, huffing through its nose and… rolling its eyes?

 _‘That is one strange horse,’_ Celegorm thought. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief when the eccentric elf clumsily stumbled over to his horse and began to talk to him, gesticulating wildly as he did so.

“So this uncivilized pig,” the brown-haired elf shot a nasty glare at the blonde one and Celegorm almost recoiled, “hasn’t played tag with a horse before. You wanna change that?”

  
The horse, amazingly enough, seemed to understand, and he bobbed his head in apparent eagerness. Celegorm’s mouth dropped open. Sure, he had seen smart horses before, but this one took the cake.

Without further ado, the horse ambled forwards and nipped Celegorm’s arm.

“Ouch!”

The horse turned and galloped away, tossing a neigh over his shoulder.

“What in Eru’s…” Celegorm turned to the mystery elf. The mystery elf shrugged.

“Suit yourself!” With that, the mystery elf was gone from the clearing so quickly that Celeborn was later sure that he must have imagined it.

* * *

 

“Fix your damn collar,” Celegorm hissed at Maëdhros. His brother shot him a filthy glare but straightened out the red cloth around his neck nonetheless. “Good.” Maëdhros glowered at Celegorm.

“Fix your…” Maëdhros glanced at his brother’s pale blue robe, frowning at the perfectly tied sash and high, turned-up collar. “Face. Fix your face.” Celegorm rolled his eyes.

They looked up as sharp, definitive steps echoed through the hallway, and were greeted with the sight of an approaching guard. “You may now enter the dining hall,” the guard said to Fëanor and his sons. Celegorm’s father nodded in thanks and strode forwards, while Caranthir sneered slightly at the formality of it all.

The family entered the hall and took their seat at the table near the Valars’. Fëanor hadn’t managed to come up with an excuse sufficient to explain an entire missing family this year, and so they had needed to attend the annual dinner despite all family members’ aversion to it.

The Valar sat at the highest table, though Celegorm noted that Nienna was absent.

  
At the far left of the high table sat a Vala in a white robe. Glossy black hair fell over his shoulders in a ragged cut, deep-sea-green strands seeming almost to glow from inside the tangle of ebony. If one were to judge by how he squirmed slightly in his seat and shot furtive glances at the exit, they would infer that he was rather uncomfortable. Celegorm supposed that he was Ulmo.

Beside Ulmo was Aule. Celegorm had seen the Vala on several other occasions; mostly when his father had seen fit to have him over for dinner (in other words, whenever his father wanted to boast about one of new creations). Aule’s auburn hair was clipped back into a bun with a golden clip, and it clashed terribly with his ornate mahogany robe.

Aule sat next to Namo, whose robe was as black as ever. The circles underneath the Vala’s eyes and his unkempt raven hair told Celegorm that Namo hadn’t slept in days. Perhaps he was being plagued by a vision unnerving. Although, Eru knew that Celegorm wouldn’t know until Manwe saw fit to grant Namo permission to disclose it.

Manwe didn’t look too concerned, though. The creases where he would normally fumble when nervous were absent from his blue robe. In fact, he was talking unconcernedly with... _the mystery elf!?_ Perhaps he was not an elf after all.

Despite his past efforts, Celegorm had needed to attend the annual dinner in the before. Even so, there were only two Valar that he had never seen. Ulmo was one of them, but he was sitting at the end of the table, morosely poking at his glazed salmon. That meant that the mystery elf was Oromë.

Celegorm was vaguely aware of the fact that his mouth had dropped open, so he shut it with a click of teeth before anyone could reprimand him.

Oromë and Manwe’s debate on the subject of agricultural funds had grown to a volume loud enough for a good half of the hall to listen in. Finally, Oromë groaned in exasperation, throwing his hands into the air.

“Celegorm!” he cried. “Back me up on this one!”

“I believe that I should remain impartial, here,” Celegorm said, allowing a slight smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. Oh yes, Celegorm was completely calm and collected. He most certainly wasn’t freaking out internally. Most certainly not. His siblings stared at him in confusion.

Oromë laughed at his reply. “See, this elf,” he motioned at Celegorm, “I like!” With that, he picked up his plate and sauntered down to Fëanor’s table. “Mind if I sit here?” he gestured at the seat next to Celegorm.

“By all means,” Fëanor replied, his shock well hidden but present nonetheless.

Oromë slid into the seat and promptly stole one of Celegorm’s green beans. Celegorm rolled his eyes and, in a calculated movement, snatched one of Oromë’s potatoes. They steadfastly ate only from each other’s plates for the rest of dinner.


End file.
